Day 48

The 5k

It wasn’t the Olympics.  It wasn’t the New York City Marathon.  It wasn’t Fifty Marathons in Fifty Days.  It wasn’t even a half-marathon…a 10k…or a 5k for charity.  All it was, was a little 5k that our ward does every six months as a way to promote healthy living and to encourage people like me to get their behinds off the couch and go out there and smell the fresh air.

I did it for the first time in October 2008.  I was a good ten pounds lighter, but still hadn’t run for distance (at that point) since high school.  I think I practiced for two weeks and did the race in a little over 38 minutes.

May 2008

March 2009

Between that race in October and the month of March, I had a goal.  My youngest sister was getting married.  It would be the first time I would be back home since my family reunion the August before.  I was bound and determined not to return with the same 160 pound frame that I had taken with me the last time I embarrassed myself.  I was going to do it the only way I knew how.

On a steady diet of Coke Zero and Slim Fast, 1,200 crunches a week and a minimum two times a week 3-7 mile bike ride, I was able to get down to 135.  I was almost a size 6.  I felt wonderful.  I thought I looked good and then the wedding was over.

Life happened again.  I let my guard down and let myself eat like a normal human being again.  The boys were out of school for the summer and around here, unless you spend most of your summer in the pool, you’re not going outside.  The summer heat and humidity is miserable.  So I ate some more and I didn’t ride my bike.  I stressed about new callings (jobs at church) and how help my boys with their needs.  Between March 2009 and March 2010, I was back up to my reunion weight.  Since March and now I have been fluctuating between 162 and 168. (Don't worry, I'm not going to embarrass myself twice in one post with another crazy photo.)

Since I started walking, jogging, and biking again in August, I am eating better than I ever have.  I’ve swallowed more spinach and veggies in the last two months than I have in years.  I keep telling myself that I am building muscle, but when you’ve been killing yourself walking and jogging at least 18 miles a week for two months with no weight loss to show for it, discouragement starts to rear its ugly head.

I try not to let it get me down though.  I admit I did it the wrong way last time.  Exercise is important, but eating healthy is the most important thing you can do to lose weight.  Because I did it the wrong way last time, I’m paying the price for it now.  My metabolism has slowed and the body fat that I’ve accumulated is holding on for dear life.  I can’t complain too much though.  With the hard work I’ve already put forth, physically, I might not look better, but I have felt better than I have in years too.  Mentally, I’m more alert and ideas just seem to be pouring out of me.  Spiritually, I just feel more in tune and inspiration seems to come easier.  So I guess, if nothing else I’m happier with me as a person.

So, in a round about way, that is why I didn’t mind coming in last at the 5k yesterday.  I really worked hard the last two months to build up to where I am now.  I could make excuses as to why I didn’t do better; I mean I was only racing against 13 other people. But none of those excuses would have changed the fact that the people I was wogging with (they were running) had been practicing for more than two months and had been taking careful of themselves for much longer than I had been.  I can’t expect to have the pounds melt away this time like they did last time.  I’m doing it in a healthier way because this time I want it to last.  I just have to remember that the road to the “Ilda” I want to be is paved with hard work and healthy living and not with Krispy Kreme donuts.

Day 46-47

Day 46-47

After the mess yesterday, I had to blow off some steam.  I blogged (which for me is always therapeutic), went to the gym, ran errands (despite what you maybe thinking, I ran them in the car) and ended up at home with time to spare before it was time to pick up the kids again. 

Silly me thought that because I had an extra day that I should punish myself more than should be allowed.  Maybe it was just stress from the last year finally coming to a head.  Maybe it was my OCD getting the better of me.  Whatever it was, it made its way to my running shoes and I started the first training day of the “Couch to 5k” program.  I warmed up with a 5 minute walk then alternated between jogging 60 seconds and walking 90 seconds.  I closed with a 5 minute cool down for a total of 30 minutes.  Now don’t go thinking I have some special watch that helps me keep track.  I’ve tried it that way and I just can’t do it.  My ADD always gets the better of me.  Thankfully, I have an awesome app on my phone that does the thinking for me.  It simply beeps to let me know when to speed up or slow down.  That work out was pretty good, but I definitely felt it in my calves.  (A leg weight training session and a jog are not ever a good idea on the same day.)

Thankfully, that was all the stupidity I had time for the rest of the day.  The evening went well and I spent the afternoon and evening helping the boys with homework, cleaning house or slacking off.

This morning was a complete 180 from yesterday.  The boys were on fire on the way to school.  It took everything for even Jax to try to keep up with them.  When we all arrived at school, I waited for them by the bike rack as I normally do, fully expecting them to come out and meet me after grabbing their “Grab ‘N Go” breakfasts.  Five minutes later I was still waiting.  I began to worry that maybe something had happened inside the cafeteria or maybe those specks in the distance that I had been chasing all the way to school really weren’t my boys.  I walked over to the window and peeked in.  There were my two guys sitting together enjoying a nice breakfast.  JT seemed to be teaching RJ something revolutionary, the way he was leaning in to make sure that only RJ could hear.  “So they do like each other,” I thought to myself.

Tomorrow, our ward (our church congregation) is sponsoring a 5k.  This is what I’ve been working towards for the last several months.  I guess we’ll see if any of that “stupidity” pays off tomorrow.  I tried not to push myself today, so I did an easy 3 mile walk with the dog (because I knew he’d be terrible if he didn’t get some exercise) and later this afternoon I rode my bike again to pick them up.  Not as easy a day as I had planned on, but easier than the torture I’m going to happily put myself through tomorrow. 

If you’d like to join us or be there to cheer us on, the race starts at Chapin Station at 7AM.  See you there.

Day 46 - Beware

Let me just confirm your suspicions, that me posting twice in one day, is not always a good thing.  I haven't gone out to exercise yet (other than my usual two mile hike back and forth to school).  This was something that happened when we got to school and I needed to vent it out somewhere or I was going to explode.  I will completely understand if you wish not to read it.  Maybe I'll post something happier after I go run for an hour.  Thanks for understanding.

 

Venting Post = Beware

Have you ever had those times, as mom, when you just want to scream?  Not because of what the kids did or didn’t do, but because of the way people around them treat them?  Sometimes you hear about something someone said about your child, or made fun of the way they dressed a particular day or made fun of an answer they gave in class.  Kids can just be so cruel sometimes.

Today was just one of those days.  As you know from one of my earlier posts, JT is still learning how to ride his bike.  He is far from mastering the skill but is making great strides towards being able to ride for more than a few seconds at a time. 

Yesterday was walk/ride your bike to school day and the police came and were registering bicycles and giving out free helmets.  JT’s been riding his scooter, but we thought it would be a great opportunity for the boys, so I strapped back on the training wheels.  Yesterday turned out great.

Today was a different story.  When I was riding with the boys, RJ decided he was going to be whinny all the way to school.  Brother was beating him and he just didn’t like it.  JT was, as usual, faster and arrived at school a few minutes before we did.  I usually just leave them at the bike rack, but I wanted to make sure JT was at school safely so I decided to look around.  I found him sitting in the cafeteria eating breakfast all by himself.  When I asked him why he hadn’t sat outside where I could see him, he told me that several of the kids had made fun of his training wheels.   His eyes started to tear up and he didn’t say anything after that.  Right then and there I wanted to find those kids and really give them a piece of my mind.

Didn’t they know that he’s someone’s son?  Didn’t they know that he hasn’t had the chance to ride a bike like the rest of them?  Didn’t they understand that he’s having a hard time with it?  Didn’t they understand that at one point in their lives, they didn’t know how to ride a bike either?  Didn’t they understand that they were hurting my son’s feelings when they said those cruel things to him?  Didn’t they understand that he has a hard time fitting in as it and that saying things like that only make him feel worse?   Didn’t they understand that he has a mom who loves him, who will probably spend the rest of the day crying, wishing that she could erase this black mark they’ve put on his already fragile ego?  Don’t they understand that he is a child of God?  Don’t they understand that they are too?  Don’t they understand that Heavenly Father loves them all and if they’d only take the time to love each other, faults, training wheels and all, that this world would be a much better place?

But I can’t.  I can sit here and cry, but that won’t do anything but make the manufacturers of Kleenex richer.  So I did the only thing I could do.  When the bell rang, I pulled him aside and told him that no matter what happened at school, that he had a mom who loved him.  Then I told him that I was going to take his bike home and replace it that afternoon with his scooter.  He smiled and for the moment, that had to be enough for me.

Days 43-45

Day 43-  Rode the bike with the pup on a leash.  He's becoming a bit of handful dragging me along side him so I thought if rode my bike I could tire him out a little faster.  Didn't work.  I had to do it twice in one day.
 Rode 3 miles.  No difference in weight, no difference in puppy.  Hyper as ever.

Day 44- Volunteered in the morning, worked on JT's space derby spaceship from 12-2. 
Did 70 lying leg raises and 40 crunches.  Will feel it tomorrow.

Day 45- Felt it today.  Decided to do a practice 5k.  Pushed myself and did a rotation of 1/2 mile walking, 1/2 mile jogging.  Finished in 41minutes.  Of course, Jax dragged me the 1st jogging 1/2 mile.  But it was actually great to see that he was jogging beside me the last jogging half mile.  For once he was as tired as I was.
Weight, consistently around 163.  Just once in next month I'd like to see a 5 in that number.  Not as the third number, and definitely not in the first.

Day 39...oops 41

Day 39…

At least I think I’m on day 39.  I can’t remember if I’m supposed to be writing about Friday or Saturday.   Actually I just looked, I’m supposed to be writing about Day 41 (Saturday, 10/2).  Man, I am not good at this.  But then again, any of you who know me, know that this is par for the course.  So I didn’t count right or didn’t really count in the first place.  But then again, isn’t that how I always do it?

During the last post, I wrote about how someday I’d have to tell you about the first and only individual race I’d ever won.  Well, in order for you to catch a grasp of how awesome yesterday was, I’ll have to tell you about it now.  I even dug through my journal to find the story and to refresh my memory.

When I was in high school and all of a 90lb, dripping wet, sophomore I signed up for track.  All I knew was that I loved to run and my Grandpa Joe thought that I was pretty good at it.  I knew nothing of what the race names stood for or how many people would be watching or how many miles I would be running, killing myself just to get in shape for a race.  So when the day came to pick what races we’d sign up for, I stupidly raised my hand and volunteered to run the 400m dash.  I didn’t know what the 400m dash was.  I heard “dash” and thought “I can dash.”

Later that day, I found out what the 400m dash was and just about had to find the nearest garbage receptacle to contain my excitement.  If you don’t know, the 400m dash is once around the track.  Now once is better than five or six times granted, but it’s also once around the track as fast as humanly possible.  Imagine the 100m sprint that Usain Bolt does… 4 times.   Not even he can hold the record for it.  The fastest time ever is Michael Johnson at 43.18 seconds and he’s six foot one.  Can you imagine me, little 5 foot 1 (at the time) trying to sprint, let alone survive just getting around the track? 

We’d practice and practice and practice and I never was able to get around the track the whole time ONCE.  Not once.  I’d have to stop at one point or another just to take a breath.  Each time I tried, I failed.

The day of my first race came.  This would be my first track meet ever, the first one I’d ever been to or run in.  We piled into the bus that would take us to Riverside High School and I was one nervous wreck.  My teammates were cheering and laughing; I was looking for the nearest exit.  My friend, Violeta, was sitting beside me and at one point offered to split cab fair with me if I decided to make a real run for it.

As we entered the stadium, I panicked when I saw how many people would be in attendance.  I knew my coach must have been crazy to think “Little Ilda” could have succeeded in doing something so huge.  I knew I was going to trip on a shoelace or puke in the middle of the track.  I couldn’t go through the humiliation, but before I could collect my things to leave, some of my teammates got me to take a practice run with them as a warm-up.  We jogged three-fourths of the track.  The race was about to start and I still couldn’t finish the whole thing.

I walked off the track.  From behind me, I felt a hard cold stare piercing me.  It was our Coach, whom one of my teammates had once said looked like a middle-aged bull dog, yelled my name.  At that moment even a bull dog would have been better company.

“Jensen!” was the first word out of her mouth.  “It’s your turn up!”

When I hear those words I knew it was my death sentence.  I tried to move towards my assigned lane, but my legs refused to move.  Coach stared at me again and that was all the motivation my legs needed.  I was not about to ignore the bark of the “Bull Dog.”

My throat began to feel like the Sahara desert as I placed my feet in the starting blocks.  The track was so hot that I could see steam rising from its surface.  I looked up into the blue sky and prayed like I had never prayed before.  I truly felt like I needed His help.  The help wasn’t so that I’d do well in the race; it was for protection from Coach if I didn’t.

I looked around and I saw there were only going to be three other girls racing against me.  I kept telling myself not worry; worst I could do was come in fourth place.

“Runners!  On your mark!”  The butterflies in my stomach were multiplying by the moment.

“Set!”  I could feel my heart in my throat ready to leap out.

“Boom!”  It scared me so much that I almost forgot to run.  By the time the first second was over, I turned around and didn’t see anyone behind me.  The other runners were all in front of me.  Down to the middle of the first straight-away, I was lagging far behind.  To make matters worse, I got a cramp in my right leg.  I turned and saw Coach’s face.  She had always told us that the more it hurt, the more we were supposed to push.  The faster we pushed the sooner the pain would be over.

We came to the last curve (you all know how I love running curves) and I was even with the third placed girl.  I closed my eyes and could feel my legs running on air.  I knew Heavenly Father was answering my prayer.  I opened my eyes again to find I was now even with the second girl.

By this time, the curve was almost over.  I had to start my “kick” soon.  We reached the straight-away.  I realized I was going to do more than finish the race, I might actually medal.  I saw the long stretch of track ahead of me and told myself that some how I was going to do it.  I heard the rumbling cheers from the stands and I ran as I never had before.

As that straight-away began, the first girl was even with me and when we had seventy-five meters to go. The yells and cheers from my teammates pushed me to go faster and I passed her.

My eyes began to burn and the finish line was moving towards me in what felt like slow motion.  I closed my eyes again and I could feel, not just hear, the roar of the crowd.  The tape from the finish line was across my chest and I opened my eyes once more.

What place had I come in?  I was too nervous to even ask.  It wasn’t until I felt the crushing hugs of my teammates around me that I realized I had won. 

A woman, who I didn’t know, asked me how I was.

“I can’t believe it,” was all I could say.  Never in my life had I expected to win.  Maybe in dreams, but never in real life.  I was tired and out of breath, but ecstatic.  Even Coach was happy enough to give me a hug.

So now you know… the first race I ever ran was also the first and last one I ever won.  That was the prelims.  I think I placed third in the finals.  That part of the story I don’t remember. 

You’re probably wondering what the heck yesterday has to do with something that happened twenty-one years ago.  You’re right to wonder.  When I was 16, I practiced and practiced and never made it around the track without stopping.  It took the adrenaline from the race to push me forward. 

Yesterday, at the age of 37, after fourteen years of marriage, carrying a LOT more weight than that 90lb girl I once was and three c-sections later, I jogged that 400m meters without stopping and not only that I went on to wog 2.40 more miles and ride my bike with the kids for nearly 4 more miles.  Now, of course, it wasn’t as fast as I ran it the day of that race.  There was no crowd cheering for me at the end, but who cares.  I’m just glad to know that “Little Ilda” was just crazy enough to succeeded in doing something so huge after all.

As for the rest of Saturday and Sunday, it’s General Conference for the our church. You’re welcomed to join us you can view it at new.lds.org  Until tomorrow, happy blogging.

Days 33-38

I’ve gotten so behind on the blog because 1) I really wasn’t able to get out and walk this week due to forgotten homework, volunteer work and yes, laziness. 2) my internet being out for five days 3) So many thoughts buzzing around my head that it was better that I left my hands off the key board …. I’ll leave you with these words of insanity as a make-up.

Have I ever told you that I hate running “straight-aways?” You know, races or parts of races where you can see the path out in front of you “running straight out to the skyline.” I hate them. It almost feels like an extra 20 lbs was added to your already heavy load because you know how far you have to go and the road (or track) seems to be getting longer and longer.

I prefer running the curves. It just seems easier when there is something obscuring your view or you have to concentrate on staying in your lane. In high school, I ran the mile relay, the 800m dash and my main event was the 400m dash. Anything to avoid running something without a curve on it. The straight-aways were hard, but for some reason the curves were easy to run. I was always able to find my groove there. If I was behind in a race, that would be where my adrenaline would kick in and I’d be able to push myself forward. (Remind me some day and I’ll tell you about the first and only individual race I ever won.)

But now day’s things are different. When I was younger it was easier not to know what the next thing was around the corner. Life was fun and exciting and even though I was nervous about the future, the mystery of what lay ahead was what life was all about. It was okay to take chances because hey, we were only making decisions that would effect the rest of our lives. Life was full of “curves” and that all right.

I’m older now and in real life, I still hate straight-aways, the running ones (I mean). I don’t mind living them. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize that I like knowing where the next paycheck is going to be coming from and what the next crisis will be before it falls in my lap like a dirty shirt. I like knowing that my children will be safe spiritually because we’re reading the scriptures as a family and including family prayer time in our day. I love knowing that my husband will be coming home to us every night and not having to worry that one day he might not show up because of infidelity or some other problem in our marriage. I love having faith in the concrete aspects of my life and knowing that even though I will have “curves” in my life, the gospel helps those “curves” bend back into shape a little sooner than they would be otherwise. It takes the worry out of what might be hiding in the shadows ahead.

So in the end I’ll keep running and wogging and walking and hobbling through this marathon, but in the end of that “race” we call life, I know that I’ll be glad that I finished it with my family beside me and a smile on my face.

As for the daily marathon, today I did 5.85 miles in about 1 hour 28 minutes. I finally was able to donate blood platelets yesterday (after having to run and get a burger because I was .4pts too low at my first attempt that morning). I was worried about how I would feel today, but I feel great. The scale still doesn’t like me, but I don’t remember saying I ever liked it so I guess we’re just going to have to have that kind of relationship. At my last weigh-in I was 162. Five pounds. Not bad for 8 weeks work (Ugh.) Where's Jillian Michaels when I need her?

Day 32

One Point.

When I woke up yesterday, I had the whole day mapped out. Take the day off from exercising and drive the kids to school and drive up to Apopka, to donate platelets at the blood center. Since this was supposed to take the whole morning, I had blocked off the whole day with nothing but watching DVDs and writing on the blog.

Did it happen? Of course, not. When does anything I ever plan, turn out the way I plan. The first part happened without a hitch. I drove all the way up to Apopka and siked myself up for the needle prick to attach my IV bag. But when I got there, my body had other plans. They checked my iron level and found that I didn’t have enough iron in my blood to donate. Now don’t worry, I had adequate levels to live, it’s just when you’re donating they hold you to a higher standard. Unfortunately, I was 1 point too low. One point! I was so frustrated. So I had the phlebotomist prick another finger. Sadly, that one was lower than the first one. Needless to say, they wouldn’t let me donate but they did let me keep the free travel mug. They sent me home with a list of foods to eat that would raise my iron and an appointment for next week.

I felt useless because I had nothing to do, but more so, I felt so bad for the people that I could have helped. On the drive home, I kept imagining what it would have been like if it was my mom, or my sister or one of my sons that needed the platelets and because I hadn’t been taking care of myself I couldn’t help them. I felt awful.

Even a walk through Sam’s Club didn’t help. It wasn’t until I was leaving the store, that my friend Jenny waved to me as she passed me in the store parking lot. She had her two little ones with her, I said hi for a few minutes and then I left to load my car.

As I closed my trunk, I thought of her with her two kids trying to get everything done in the store that she needed to. Before I knew it, I found myself pulling out a shopping cart for her and lifting up her little boy in my arms. It was nice to be talking to a friend. Since school had started we hadn’t seen much of each other. It was fun to spend time with her little boy and daughter and catch up. When her shopping was done, I helped her get her kids into the car and we made plans to go for our weekly 5k run the next morning.

Alone, I walked back to my car on the other side of the building and ran into my friend, Jaada. It was so nice to see her outside of church. We caught up for a few minutes and then she left to do her shopping.

I did a bit more shopping, ate lunch and found myself with some time on my hands so I popped over to my friend Gina's house. Soon it was time to pick up G-Man and then go get the younger two at their school.

I spent the afternoon helping with homework and cleaning the garage, but the highlight of my day ended up when JT asked me to help him with his bike. He’s really struggling with trying to learn how to ride it without training wheels. Although we didn’t get him riding for more than a few seconds at a time, it was raining and he was smiling. That image will be burned into my head for a long time. The rain, the smiles and his bike. What more could a mom ask for?

So, in the end I learned not to be so hard on myself. I need to take care of myself so that I have the chance to lots more of those memories burned into my head in the future. And second, even though the day didn’t turn out the way I planned, Heavenly Father had something better in store for me and that is enough for me. One point made the difference.

Day 31

Mama Duck
Growing up, I was the oldest of six girls. During my sixth grade year, three of my sisters were attending the same school as I was. It was my job to walk them to school and see that they got to where they belonged safely. Now I didn't mind it, I loved being with my sisters. The only problem was that as I walked, my sisters would start to fall behind. By the time we got to school we looked like a little train of ducks. For most of that sixth grade year, I was nicknamed "Mama Duck."

Today, felt much the same way. And this is our typical morning:

G-man, our 11 year-old will run to get on the bus to go to his school. The dog will start howling and barking because he can hear the chaotic excitement in the air. JT, the middle one-9, will start running around trying to find his glasses or an assignment that he forgot but will still be missing his shoes or maybe hasn't gotten dressed at all. RJ, our wee one-6, will have been dressed and ready to go since birth and will be waiting at the door to leave. I start to put on my jogging shoes, which sends the dog into a hissy fit knowing that his dog sled pulling (me dragging) time is about to start. Dad leaves for work and the panic in the dog's bark is enough to sizzle your ear drums. Jax, the dog, starts jumping on everything: the table with his leash and harness, the kitchen island with my fanny pack and water bottles. "Let's go! What's taking so long?" is all we can imagine him saying.

JT jumps on his scooter and starts down the drive way. RJ puts on his helmet and begins to pedal, but hasn't really gotten the hang of pedaling up-hill so the frustration in his voice begins. I have to remind JT to put on his helmet and before I know it, both boys yelling at each other or crying because they can't get the helmet strapped on right or they're mad because their brother is beating them down the sidewalk.

I'm frantically trying to get my headphone cables untangled and push RJ up the 15 degree "steep" angle of our drive way. With RJ finally headed in the right direction and my CardioTracker app finally working, I look off in the distance and JT is already three houses ahead of us. The dog begins dragging me as fast as my legs can carry me and we're off.

Within five houses, RJ has gotten stuck on a downslopped driveway and is heading into the street or JT has zoomed passed me so quickly that I can barely see his silhouette in the gleaming morning light. The dog tries to trip me, oh and look at that. Now he's pooped.

As we cross the first of four streets on our morning commute, RJ begins to have a panic attack as he nears the mail box that he crashed into his second day on the bike. I calm him down and he rides next to me back pedaling and crying about how he can't do this, only to tell me he loves riding his bike when I threaten to take his riding privileges away the next morning.

We're not even half mile down the road and my shins are screaming at me from yesterday's walk of torture. The dog is pulling me, secretly believing that we're in some kind of Roman Chariot race and that he has to pull us there before we're executed.

By some sort of miracle, I make it to the crossing guard at our last street and the boys have slowed enough for me to catch up to them at a fast jog as they cross the street. They ride, I scramble, to get to the end of the next block with them and then they are forced to get off their bikes/scooters and walk them the rest of the way into the school. The tired mommy in me screams that I should just drop them off here, but my heart aches to stay with them a few more seconds. With my legs yelping all the way to the walkers' gate, I walk my boys to the bike rack and hope for one last kiss and one last wave before they leave me.

Left alone now with the dog, I strap on my water bottle pack a little tighter and I go off to torture myself with another course of wogging (walking and jogging) until I some how make it home to start the rest of my day.

Today is Day 31 and while I only did 2.21 miles this morning, I'll probably head back out into the cruel world for some fresh air and strength training this afternoon.

As for today's weigh in, the Wii scale says I'm 1.8lbs heavier than yesterday. I don't like scales.

Day 30

Day 30. No, you're not missing anything. Day 30 is where we're starting and it's only out insanity of that any days after 30 will follow. While I was attempting to kill myself by walking a crazy seven miles today, it finally occurred to me that I ought to leave something behind for posterity. I finally thought that combining my two favorite things --writing and wogging (walking and jogging)--would be a great place to start. I can write about everything that is driving me crazy while I run and get some writing time in too.

So here's a quick catch up for those of you who might not have been bored by my status ramblings on Facebook. :):

This summer we decided to transfer our two youngest boys to the school that is in our neighborhood. Our oldest son is autistic and all three have been attending his school. Next year, he will be attending middle school at totally different school than the mainstream children. In order for the two younger ones to have some friends by the time they reached middle school, a move was necessary. We also thought it would save gas money and get me a little exercise in the process.

It's 30 days in now and the kids are adjusting to the new school well and have even figured out how to ride their bikes and scooters. The ride time has definitely shortened...for them. For me, things have definitely taken a turn. When this whole transfer idea was tossed around, I thought it would be great. Half mile walking to drop the boys off and a half mile back home. Two miles a day would be a great start to getting me back into shape. But then again I was already in shape, "round is a shape."

The first day of school was all nice and fun. I thought, "Maybe this just seems long because I haven't walked that far in a long time." On the way home, it was equally long only this time the 65% humidity and the 98 degree heat really got to me. The next day I decided to GPS the trip. To my great sadness and regret, especially for the boys, the trip was approx a mile each way. So not only was I tired walking 4 miles each day, but the boys were tired from school and now were having to walk two miles.

But like I said at the beginning. The boys have adjusted. They're riding their bikes and scooters and I sometimes ride my bike in the afternoon to pick them up. It's just the mornings that are getting harder.

In 70 workouts, I've gone approximately 99.09 miles (13 of which were just my wogging workouts on Monday and today). For some reason, I thought that if I kept walking I would get into shape or our puppy would be calmer in the afternoon or that I would lose lots of weight. So far none of that has happened. I mean, yes my clothes (blouses) are fitting better, but that's about as far as it goes. I'm so frustrated. It's not like I'm pigging out or eating horrible amounts of fast food or drinking gallons of soda. In fact, I'm doing the opposite, but I would like to see the scale go a different direction. I am 6 pounds lighter than my all time heaviest, yes I admit --167.8 pounds which I accomplished earlier this summer. For my little frame and short stature I should be around 124-130. But is it happening? No. Is the weight coming off? No. My pants fit me the same as always and that really stinks. My hubby says he can see a difference, but that isn't what I see when I'm sucking it in to button my pants. Ugh!

Tomorrow will be a light day and I'm going to try to add some weights in the groove. Let's just see how things go. Hopefully, today's workout doesn't decided to finally kill me in my sleep.

Today I weighed in at 161.4 after the walk. Breakfast: ate 1/2 cup bowl of Grape Nuts with 1/2 cup of 2% milk for breakfast. Lunch: ate a burrito bowl at Chipotle's with rice, roasted pork, lettuce and tomatoes. Dinner: Who knows.